


Shallow

by arcaneGash



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Gen, everyone's an oc, mentions of biochemistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneGash/pseuds/arcaneGash
Summary: The Splatocalypse cometh. Splatfests normally don't lead to in-depth philosophical discussions, but life on the surface is already so weird, this might as well happen.





	Shallow

**Author's Note:**

> hey, first time writing for splatoon specifically. i'm working on a bigger project currently that has far more detail about who these characters are and why you should care about them, but it's still in its very beginning stages and i wanted to test the waters, so to speak, with something shorter like this. also as soon as i heard the news i couldn't get this idea out of my head. 
> 
> anyway these are my ocs, [topsail](https://www.deviantart.com/shadowsplice/art/Topsail-ref-v2-802761400) and maya (who i haven't gotten around to drawing yet hence why she gets a written description and he doesn't). consider this an introduction to them before i get into the Real Shit.
> 
> comments, especially critique, are highly appreciated!

The news of the upcoming Splatfest lay over Inkopolis and its surrounding areas like a shadow, a cloud passing over the sun, in a way Topsail wasn’t familiar with.

He didn’t care too much for those kinds of festivities in the first place, for a number of personal reasons. He would much rather be an audience than an active participant; let the more competent fighters have their little play-war. What enjoyment the Inklings got out of it eluded him, but since it was a pretty major cultural thing, he played along with the hypothetical “what-team-are-you-choosing” conversations whenever one was scheduled.

This time, though…Splatfests, he thought, were a celebration. An event centered entirely around friendly competition, and it ultimately didn’t matter which side won or lost. This time, while all the surface-level promises of fun and excitement were still there, it felt _bigger_ than that somehow. Maybe part of it was that it was marketed that way, it was called _Splatocalypse,_ for the seas’ sake. It was supposed to be big and dramatic, Inklings ate that stuff up. But it felt different, it ran deeper. This time, the teams weren’t arbitrary. They were symbols, and they stood for too much.

He wasn’t getting paid to sit here and think about this stupid Splatfest, though. He forced his attention back to his computer screen, reminding himself of the protocol and glancing down at the scrap of paper he’d been scrawling dilution calculations on. He needed to get this assay done by the end of the day, he didn’t relish having to scrounge around lab looking for the necessary chemical reagents--

“Gotta say, dude.” On cue, his coworker and best friend Maya broke the comfortable silence between the two lab techs. She’d also been typing away at her respective computer behind him, but as she spoke he realized the clacking of her keys had slowed down considerably in the last few minutes. She now turned in her chair to face him, her purple hair-tentacles swaying with the motion. It always mystified him that despite Inkling tentacles lacking the fine motor control that Octolings had in theirs, he’d never seen an Inkling accidentally slap themself in the face. Maya’s eyes were golden, a sharp contrast to her darker skin, and wider than normal to stress that whatever was going to come out of her mouth next was something he shouldn’t take too seriously. “You’re full of surprises. I thought…for sure we’d be on the same team this time.”

“So did I.” Topsail pushed his glasses further up his nose, trying not to show on his face that his stomach had coiled itself into a tight knot. Maya was superficially lighthearted, but that little pause in her words had tipped him off. This was bothering her, too. He grappled with his vocabulary, searching for the right words. “Someone with your…exuberance…I’d have expected to choose Chaos for sure.”

“Exuberance, huh?” Maya raised an eyebrow, smirking, but her playfulness didn’t last very long. Her tone went low as she said, “I can’t believe you wouldn’t go with Order. You’re so reserved, and detail-oriented…it seemed like it’d be right up your alley. But you went Chaos instead.”

“I have my reasons.” Topsail swiveled around in his chair, ensuring none of his other coworkers, or cod forbid his boss, were wandering around the lab and could overhear. “First of all, chaos is the natural state of the universe. Who am I to defy the very concept of entropy?”

“Nerd.”

“Secondly…” Topsail lowered his voice, again scanning the lab benches for potential eavesdroppers. “Order’s great in theory, but in practice…you get the Octarians. Every person has their place, and if you don’t fit in exactly the way you’re supposed to…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence, Maya winced and he figured he’d said enough. “And chaos is the only reason I could even make it to the surface. Their order started falling apart, and I slipped through the cracks. If it had been stable…I’d still be down there.”

Maya meditated on this for a moment, her tongue poking out from in between her teeth. “I’ll give you that. But as you said, Octavio’s ‘order’ wasn’t all that orderly, and that was what made it dangerous. A better organization would have ensured that there was a place for every person, not the other way around. We need that kind of structure for a functioning society, you know?”

“That ‘structure’ is inherently constraining. You’d have to constantly adjust the system to accommodate every possibility, every unexpected outcome—you can’t plan for everything. Inevitably something new comes along that doesn’t fit, that you can’t _make_ fit, and it all crumbles.”

“And what does it crumble into? Anarchy!” Maya’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not railing against injustice here, but the very concept of rules. Some of them need to be broken, sure, but so many of them exist to keep us safe. Anything-goes devolves into violence real friggin’ quick.”

“The lack of rules does not equal the lack of morals. At least there can’t be systemic injustice if there is no system—and I think how quickly things can change is a blessing. Nothing in an order happens fast, even if it needs to. The only thing it does quickly is be destroyed—and maybe it deserves to be. Natural law, remember.”

“What good does that do, uprooting it entirely? It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly better than nothing! Chaos does nothing to help those who are most in need of it! I thought you, of all people, would understand that!”

“And I thought you would understand the futility of building an artificial structure that can’t possibly account for anything and everything! Chaos is freedom—freedom from a system that tells you no one single person matters!”

A few tense moments passed. Topsail became acutely aware of his tentacles writhing in agitation, dragging themselves across his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hearts thudding harder than they had been a moment ago. He heard Maya take in a deep breath, hold it for many seconds, and then release it in a low whistle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I…didn’t mean to get so heated.”

“Nor did I.” Maya gave a quiet huff through her nose, almost laughter but not quite bridging the gap. “No hard feelings here.”

By the time Topsail had picked his head up, Maya had turned away from him and was at her computer again. She seemed absorbed in the article she was reading, but the way she drummed her fingers on the counter indicated her lack of focus.

Still, he waited several minutes to speak again, watching the time tick away on the clock at the bottom corner of his own screen. He ran his tongue along his teeth. “You’ve been in way more Splatfests than I have. Does it always feel like this?”

“No.” Her response was almost immediate, like she had been waiting for him to ask. She peered at him over her own shoulder. “This one’s different. It’s…weightier. You think I’d’ve yelled at you over something stupid like forks versus spoons?” She shook her head. “Last time I remember one that felt this, like, important, was when the Squid Sisters were still big—and even then, this one’s still more…momentous, I guess. It’s…” She cracked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “The opposite of fun. Makes me nervous.”

Topsail offered her a weary smile of his own. “I thought I was just being paranoid.”

“Nah. General consensus, given what I’ve heard from my friends and social media, says pretty much everyone feels that way.” She turned back toward him, the light finally returning to her eyes. “So I think it’s super important we participate in this one. You in?”

Maya had only ever abstained from a couple Splatfests, and Topsail could count the ones he _had_ been in on one hand. Reluctant as he was to make a fool of himself in front of swarms of 14-year-old Inklings who could wipe the floor with him blindfolded, the weight of this event, its potential consequences, was impossible to ignore. Besides, after that argument, he probably ought to put his money where his mouth was. “I guess, since you’re twisting my arm and all…”

She grinned. “Legit, I think this thing is gonna make history. As much as the atmosphere of it all feels _off,_ I’m glad to be a part of it.”

Where Maya found excitement, Topsail found obligation. He nodded anyway, his thoughts drifting back into his memory, trying to uncover where in his apartment he might have stuffed his rarely-used splatterscope.

“And, hey.” Maya again brought him out of his own mind, looking him over with a serious expression she didn’t often wear. “No matter which team wins, no matter the consequences…I have your back. And I know you have mine.”

He smiled, sincerely this time. “Always.”

She flashed her teeth at him. “Good luck, ‘cause you’re gonna need it. If there’s one thing Team Order is good at, it’s being organized. You and your motley crew don’t stand a chance against the incomprehensible magic that is basic teamwork skills.”

He was very familiar with the traditional Inkling custom of trash-talking, even if Maya’s particular flavor of it happened to be a little sarcastic. “I’m not even going to contest that, honestly. But, you know, it might not even matter how well anyone performs. If there was ever a time to rig a Splatfest, it would be now.”

“Oh, you’re one of _those?_ ” Maya’s eyebrows vanished into her hairline. “Didn’t take you for the conspiracy theorist type, T. Even though you’re probably right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

They both chuckled. When Topsail turned back to his dilutions, _Splatocalypse_ still looming over his head, the shadow it cast over him, over them all, seemed less imposing.


End file.
